


Beyond a Shadow of Doubt

by Chanonvic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Based on "Like a Moth to Flame" by hetas, Established Relationship, Fanfic for a fanfic?, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:27:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29323929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chanonvic/pseuds/Chanonvic
Summary: When he finally arrived at the brownstone apartment, he had merely settled on wanting some sense of closure. Throughout his musings, however, he kept circling back to one glaring question – what did Arthur want?
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia), America/Japan (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Beyond a Shadow of Doubt

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Like a Moth to Flame](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25460338) by [hetas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hetas/pseuds/hetas). 



> It elates me to sacrifice my OTP on the altar of Ameripan.

Alfred knew this was a bad idea – had even said so to Lovino and Feliks, who had agreed with him. Still, he hadn't stopped himself from going, and so his friends hadn't, either. On the cab ride over, he'd had the time to reflect on what was motivating him despite all thoughts to the contrary. When he finally arrived at the brownstone apartment, he had merely settled on wanting some sense of closure. Throughout his musings, however, he kept circling back to one glaring question – what did Arthur want?

Alfred pulled out his phone to pull up their text chain from the couple days prior. The last received message revealed a partial motive; Arthur had sent him a photo of a familiar bomber jacket with the caption _"this yours?"_ Of course, it _was_ his, so the following text was his confirmation of their rendezvous. Alfred grimaced; that didn't sound right even in his own head. He shook his head to clear the thought and fired a text letting Arthur know he'd arrived. This meant that by the time he ascended the steps, the front door was opening and Arthur was stepping around it to greet him.

They spent a palpable moment eyeing each other. With Arthur standing in the doorway like that, finger-combed hair tousled and eyes roaming Alfred's body and hand fidgeting with the door knob and dressed casually, it was easy for Alfred's mind to reel back through the years, to a time that was simultaneously simpler and more complex and it didn't matter because Arthur was by his side and they were in love and –

Alfred cleared his throat of the emotion that started clogging it. "Hey," he managed, and praise the powers that be, his breath didn't hitch like he was sure it would.

"Hey, yourself," Arthur returned. He spared Alfred another sweeping look before stepping aside. "Won't you come in?" he asked the door mat.

Ignoring his better instincts, Alfred entered the apartment. The foyer opened immediately into the sitting room, with a staircase presumably leading up to more private quarters off to the side. The space was immaculate and cozy, ready to host at a moment's notice though not terribly lived in, like the page out of a home style magazine.

"Nice place," Alfred said as Arthur moved further into the apartment.

"Thanks," Arthur said as he walked over to a loveseat, on the back of which was draped the accursed bomber jacket. He picked it up gingerly in both hands and approached Alfred, holding it out when he was close enough. "Here you are."

Alfred took the jacket and began stroking the material as though to remind it of its proper owner. Despite how long it had been since he had seen the article, let alone worn it, he could tell that it had been well cared for. In fact, if he concentrated hard enough, he could smell a hint of fabric softener. Almost as quickly as he wondered why Arthur would bother to clean the jacket, an image coalesced of Arthur wearing it. The image vanished when he lifted his gaze.

"Thank you for taking care of it," he said to Arthur directly in search of a reaction, of confirmation of his suspicion.

Not surprisingly, Arthur didn't crack. He merely nodded, then half-turned away. "You're not in a rush, are you? It's just, I was going to put a pot on and..." Arthur's voice trailed off and the hand he was using to point in the direction Alfred assumed the kitchen hung in the air and suddenly Arthur looked very unsure as Alfred had only rarely seen him.

This trip was turning out to be more complicated than Alfred had initially anticipated (which was saying a lot), but, he convinced himself, it'd be shame to have come all this way for an only two-minute exchange. Slowly, he slung the jacket over his shoulder, hooked onto one finger, and shoved his other hand into his pants pocket. "Sure," he said with a casual shrug, "tea sounds great."

He followed Arthur into the kitchen, which was adjacent to the sitting room. It was pretty big for the apartment, large enough to have an island separating the cooking area from the dining. Arthur busied himself with making the tea, which silently gave Alfred permission to look around. After tossing his jacket onto the back of a chair, he inspected the framed pictures hanging on the walls, the knick-knacks decorating the shelves, the magazines spread tastefully across the center of the round table.

"They're paying you well, by the looks of this place," Alfred said while reading one of the magazine taglines.

Arthur sniffed a laugh. "I do well for myself."

"Worth your soul, I hope." Alfred had only partially meant to say that aloud, but he wasn't sorry. He glanced over with a quirked eyebrow in time to catch Arthur turn and lean against the counter to face him.

"Yes," he said plainly. "Especially when it comes to paying down law school debt. But you wouldn't know about that, would you?" They watched each other for a frigid moment. Then, Arthur shook his head with a huff. "I remember when we could have civil conversations," he said softly.

Alfred melted a little. "Me, too." He walked over to the island and leaned down onto it on his elbows. "I want to be happy for you. It seems like you got what you wanted."

Arthur walked over to the island, too, and placed his hands down on it. "Almost. I've got the career, the reputation, the apartment," and he waved a hand casually to indicate the space, "but – Alfred, you were supposed to be here, too."

He didn't respond, didn't know how to. He didn't know Arthur still felt that way – he figured Arthur's mind would have refocused on the attainable, albeit material, the moment their relationship ended – but his eyes burned with a sincerity that used to make Alfred shiver. Now it made him sick, made him think of all the ground that had fallen out beneath them both. Still, he couldn't look away, so when Arthur's eyes hardened with resolution, he couldn't say he was surprised. He reached out to cup Alfred's jaw, slowly enough for Alfred to back away if he wanted. He didn't. So Arthur pulled him into a kiss.

Alfred remembered – was almost anticipating – the chill that used to come with kissing Arthur, followed by a sweep of heat that would pool in his stomach if it lasted long enough. But this was _different_. This time, his chest ached under the weight of too many emotions – grief for the loss of the future he used to want, love for someone new, regret that he and Arthur hadn't done this sooner, shame that he was doing this at all.

He felt Arthur sigh, and they pulled apart a few inches. Even this close, he could see all of Arthur's face and could catalogue what he _didn't_ see. There was no flush lurking beneath skin, no soft panting, no teased lip wanting more. It was well and truly over between them. When their eyes met, Alfred could see that they'd arrived at the same conclusion at the same time.

"I just had to know," Arthur said by way of explanation. He offered a small smile as he slid away.

Before Alfred could respond, the kettle started to whistle. Arthur hurried to occupy himself with steeping the tea and preparing the fixings, which gave Alfred much-needed time to recover. He left the island and sat at the table, tapping his fingers in some half-remembered rhythm while he waited, and a few moments later, Arthur brought over a tray for the tea, milk, sugar, and their cups. He placed it between them and sat in the seat adjacent Alfred's, and together they prepared their respective drinks.

Alfred was adding his fourth spoonful of sugar into his when Arthur hummed a laugh. "Not everything's changed, it seems," he said.

"The important things have," Alfred insisted. He resisted the urge to grimace and instead joined the other in taking a sip of tea. It didn't have to be awkward, he reasoned with himself. They were enjoying a nice, warm drink on a nice, warm day, as would two – well, what were they, exactly? _Acquaintances_ sounded too distant, _friends_ was too presumptuous. He didn't suppose there was a label for two guys who used to fuck, were forced to break up, and were now doing their level best not to hate each other, was there?

He really shouldn't have come, bomber jacket be damned.

Arthur cleared his throat softly, pulling Alfred's attention back to the present. "So, how is Honda, anyway?"

Alfred didn't hear any of the coolness in the other's tone that he would have expected just a day prior. "He's fine," Alfred answered honestly. "We're fine." And then he thought about something. "What about you? Seeing anyone?" He allowed himself to settle into the casual vibe Arthur seemed intent on invoking. He quirked his eyebrows and smirked suggestively.

Arthur snorted a laugh. "Yes, actually. Nothing serious, but...it's fun." He shrugged, but Alfred caught the fondness in his face under the nonchalance.

"Well, good for you."

"Good for _us_." And Arthur held out his teacup, nodding to Alfred to do the same. He softly clinked them together in a wordless toast.

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read hetas' fic, go do so immediately. I was struck by the angst and discordance of a broken USUK relationship, and so I _had_ to write this. I'll be the first to admit, though, that I doubt Alfred would do much of this, but cut me some slack -- this is my OTP, after all.


End file.
